. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong. ‘No, no, Jacques, you have done very right. ’ It is the Press who find her out. She calls him a pig, and she says he ain’t Valade. She had never been so happy to vomit. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. It was true. Lucy's ears were singing. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light.
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